


we're on the brink (just not tonight)

by brinnanza



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Platonic Cuddling, RQG 32 End of the Line, bryn you can read this but you cannot indicate to me that you have done so or I will die, hamid's dragon hoard is friends you can't change my mind, this fic is called you can't prove there wasn't a cuddle pile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-18 10:49:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21576418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnanza/pseuds/brinnanza
Summary: The tents are far too wet to actually sleep inside of, so Hamid and Zolf spread them out over a few low tree branches to create a bit of shelter against the wind and sea spray. It would be easier with Sasha’s help, considering she towers over them both, but he doesn’t want to wake her, not before he has to, anyway. They’d almost lost her - she and Zolf both had so nearly been swallowed up by the sea. Hamid knows he wouldn’t have made it on his own, that he hadn’t stood a chance in a boat he can’t sail atop the violent, roiling sea, and there is something sharp in his chest anytime he takes his eyes off of either of them.(A missing scene for RQG 32)
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan & Sasha Racket & Zolf Smith
Comments: 14
Kudos: 170





	we're on the brink (just not tonight)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm relistening to rqg and that is usually fic o'clock for me, so here's this!!! feat. platonic cuddling, dragon-esque possessiveness, and my old standard, coping poorly with trauma by aggressively reminding yourself that everyone is fine. there's probably an ocean metaphor. also the word "prestidigitates" can go straight to hell.
> 
> anyway this is unbetaed because I lack anything approaching patience. title is from the mechanisms' alice.

There’s a strong breeze that kicks up on the sand on the shore, and it sticks to Hamid’s skin, itching as it dries. He prestidigitates it away reflexively, but the wind is damp with sea spray and Hamid is just as covered in sand the moment the spell fades. He could stand here and keep casting, getting nowhere and wasting time, or he can just resign himself to it and help Zolf set up the tents. 

It’s probably a good thing Bertie isn’t here, Hamid thinks as he trudges toward the treeline after Zolf. He’d probably insist on Hamid cleaning him up, no matter how long as it took, and, well, Hamid’s never been very good at telling Bertie no. Or anyone, really. It’s just easier to say _yes_ , give a charming smile and a nod. 

The tents are far too wet to actually sleep inside of, so Hamid and Zolf spread them out over a few low tree branches to create a bit of shelter against the wind and sea spray. It would be easier with Sasha’s help, considering she towers over them both, but he doesn’t want to wake her, not before he has to, anyway. They’d almost lost her - she and Zolf both had so nearly been swallowed up by the sea. Hamid knows he wouldn’t have made it on his own, that he hadn’t stood a chance in a boat he can’t sail atop the violent, roiling sea, and there is something sharp in his chest anytime he takes his eyes off of either of them.

 _Too close_ , Hamid thinks, and it just makes him want to hold on harder. There is something fierce and protective within Hamid, something fire-bright and dangerous, and he knows already that he will never let them go.

He and Zolf work in silence. Wind whistles through the trees, waves crash against the shore, the tents rustle and drip. If Hamid listens very carefully, he can just about hear Sasha’s whistling snore a few feet away. He tries to keep her in sight, but when he can’t, he listens, and that settles the too-sharp ache in his chest.

When the tents are set up as much as they can be, Zolf gathers up wood for a fire. It’s damp, and it will probably take some doing to get it to light, but the spark comes easily enough to Zolf’s hand. Hamid hopes that means Poseidon is satisfied, at least for now. There had been something in Zolf’s face, back in the temple in Dover, something heavy and resigned that Hamid hopes not to see there again. (He knows better, of course; just because he’s optimistic doesn’t mean he’s stupid.)

Hamid leaves Zolf muttering at the damp wood, his own fingers, and the sky in turn and makes his way back to where Sasha is passed out in the sand. He leans down to give her shoulder a gentle shake. “C’mon Sasha,” he says, and winces when his throat burns with the effort. It makes sense, he supposes, after all the shouting he’d done today. But he hadn’t been the one doing the actual work of rowing, and the least Sasha deserves is a relatively safe place to sleep. He clears his throat and tries again, words a barely-audible rasp of sound. “We’ve got camp set up.”

Sasha tenses beneath Hamid’s hand, and then he flings himself backwards with a burst of adrenaline he didn’t know he still had as she rolls toward him, dagger aimed as his throat. A squeak tears its way roughly from Hamid’s throat, and Sasha blinks at him, eyes tracking him.

She blinks. “Sorry,” she mutters after a moment. The knife disappears back into her jacket.“Habit.”

“Sure,” Hamid says, trying (and failing) to suppress a wince. He clears his throat again. “We’ve set up the tents if you want to…” He gestures back at the treeline, at their makeshift shelter.

Sasha gets to her feet with a fluid little roll and heads toward it. Her front is absolutely covered in sand, caked into the crevices of her jacket and sticking to her cheek. Hamid stifles the urge to prestidigitate her clean again; it won’t really help, and he doesn’t want to do it without her consent.

Zolf has managed to get a fire lit, and Hamid sits down between him and Sasha. It’s warmer here, bathed in the glow of the flames. There’s still a bite to the air, in the cool wind that’s not entirely blocked by the tents and the trees, and it makes the fire gutter and dance. Sasha’s hunched in on herself, creeping closer to the fire to warm her hands.

“Are you -” Hamid starts. “Will you be warm enough?” It’s barely audible over the crackling fire. He should probably stop speaking until his throat has a chance to heal, but he also knows he won’t, not if there’s anything he can say to make his friends more comfortable.

Sasha just shrugs. “I’ll be fine,” she says gruffly. “‘S not the worst place I’ve ever slept.” She yawns, arms stretching above her head, and then she lays down in the sand beside him. Her knees are drawn up to her chest, but she turns her back to Hamid. It’s just practicality, Hamid knows, to sleep facing out, but there is a warm, pleased little spark in Hamid’s chest that she trusts them enough to do it.

On Hamid’s other side, Zolf is bedding down as well. He doesn’t bother to remove his prosthetic, just lays down on his back, gazing up at the sky through the overhang of leaves. There are far too many clouds to see stars, but Hamid thinks maybe Zolf can see them anyway, an indelible memory tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. Zolf inhales slowly, carefully, and then exhales the same way. “Not the worst place I’ve ever slept either," he says, closing his eyes. “Try to get some sleep. We’ll figure out where we are in the morning.”

“Right,” Hamid says. He frowns, and then lays down between them. He knows Sasha and Zolf both have some experience sleeping rough, but prior to now, the worst place Hamid had ever slept had been the inn in Other London, and even that had been a proper bed. The sand is cold beneath him, uneven and coarse and creeping into the crevices of his clothing, prickling and itchy. He prestidigitates the worst of it away, but it doesn’t help, not really. He’s sore and exhausted and he’d like nothing more than to sleep through it, but he’s not entirely sure that he can. There’s sand in his hair, in his mouth, crunching sharp and uncomfortable between his teeth.

“Quit wiggling,” Sasha throws over her shoulder. She reaches back to grasp Hamid’s shoulder, and he blows out a breath, frustrated tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.

“Sorry,” he whispers. He curls into himself, blinking rapidly and willing himself not to cry. This is - the trip across the channel isn’t even close to the worst thing Hamid’s been through in the last few weeks. Between Barrett’s thugs and killer plant creatures and nearly drowning, this shouldn’t even register. It’s hardly the first sleepless night Hamid’s ever spent.

Behind him, there’s a rustle of fabric, and Hamid cranes his neck to look over his shoulder. Sasha’s moving, scooting toward him until her back is flush with his own. It doesn’t make the sand any more comfortable, but her solid, steady pressure makes the tight spiral of anxiety in Hamid’s stomach start to unwind, just a little. She hasn’t drowned, they haven’t lost her, she is here and whole and safe. “Sasha?”

“You’re warm,” she says by way of explanation. “Well warm; you’re like a furnace.”

“Oh,” Hamid says. He thinks maybe she might be humoring him a little bit, but it’s so hard to tell with Sasha. “Okay.” 

Sasha’s only reply is a whistling snore, so Hamid uncurls just enough that he can see Zolf beside him, watch the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Hamid takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. Zolf too is right here, unharmed and undeniably present. Hamid reaches out just enough that his fingers brush against Zolf’s arm, and thinks maybe he’ll be able to sleep now.

Zolf stirs at the contact, turning his head to frown at Hamid. “Sorry,” Hamid whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you, I just…” He’d just wanted that extra reassurance of touch, the way Sasha is pressed against his back.

There’s a little wrinkle in Zolf’s brow that Hamid can just make out in the firelight as Zolf peers at him. “Yeah, alright,” Zolf grumbles after a moment, like it’s a consolation, even though Hamid hasn’t asked him for anything. He shuffles closer, closing the remaining space between them. “Go on, then.” 

Hamid shifts so he can lay his head on Zolf’s shoulder, and held safely between his friends, he sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> [art for this exists now](https://brinnanza.tumblr.com/post/189379635891/sometimes-u-gotta-draw-art-for-your-own-fic-aka)


End file.
